The Blacksmith's New Clothes
by idle curiosity
Summary: Written for the prompt "Will's wedding attire" for the turningpirate challenge. He'd left the plans to Elizabeth, but even a blacksmith needs new clothes for his wedding.


The details of the wedding were Elizabeth's domain. After all, what could he possibly know of such things? All he wanted to know was the date and the time, and what church he was to be at.

When he was told that their marriage would be more than a year away, his heart plummeted. He suspected that Governor Swann'd had a hand in that particular decision. He just wasn't sure if it was to give Elizabeth a chance to possibly come to her senses and change her mind, or if the Governor simply wasn't willing to part with his only daughter any sooner than he was absolutely forced to.

Resigned to the wait, he spent the year working hard at the shop. He had finished his apprenticeship, and was working with Mr. Brown as a journeyman blacksmith, his wages rising appropriately. During the course of the year, the master smith came down with the fever, and he passed away rather suddenly. Will sincerely grieved the loss of the man who had taught him his craft and given an orphan a home.

He was more than a little surprised to learn that Mr. Brown, a widower with no children, had bequeathed the blacksmith shop to him. Along with the smithy, Mr. Brown had left him the small, modest house built on the property as well.

At first, Will worried that business would fall off. But it would seem that most of the patrons of the establishment knew quite well that he was the one who'd done most of the work in the later years. Will found himself to be the owner of a successful business. He worked hard, taking in all the custom that he could, saving every shilling possible towards the beginning of their married life.

He knew that Elizabeth was working just as hard on the wedding plans, and they were myriad. She would talk to him of flowers, and guest lists, and music, and the church, and the weather and how it had best not dare rain on that day. She would mutter about the wedding breakfast, and the food, and how many bottles of champagne to have on hand, and seating arrangements, and who could not be placed next to whom if she wished to avoid social disaster. He knew that he wasn't expected to do anything about any of it; what she needed from him was a listening ear.

As the wedding grew closer and closer, there were days when she was tense and irritable. She could be snappish with him at times, and she seemed to be developing what he considered to be a rather adorable little frown that would crease a tiny line between her brows on the really bad days. He was wise enough, however, not to point these things out to her.

When he'd conduct their many sword fighting lessons, he would look for the frown before they even began. If he saw that little crease, he would adjust his style to strictly defense, having quickly learned that with the tiny line came an absolute dervish wielding a blade. She would throw herself into an attack. The fighting would be fast and furious, she'd give no quarter, and he sometimes came away from those particular sessions with nicks and cuts.

Ah, but when they were done, she would stand in front of him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lips parted, her cheeks flaming, her eyes clear of frustration and sparkling once again. Both of them would be breathing hard, staring at each other, and they would suddenly drop their swords to come together in a passionate embrace. Her chaperone would thunderously clear her throat, but she had long since come to the realization that there was really nothing she could do with them when they were like that.

And Elizabeth would always lovingly tend to any of his hurts afterward.

When the wedding was just a few months off, and he could see the culmination of all his hopes and dreams like some bright and shining thing on the horizon, she came to him with something that he himself actually had to do for the ceremony.

He needed a suit of wedding clothes.

Will's brows raised at this revelation. As Elizabeth's fiance, he'd been required, over the course of their betrothal, to escort her to functions that were at times of a formal nature, and he'd had to have some fine garments made for those occasions. They were all of good quality, better than anything he'd ever owned before. Slightly confused, he wondered if there was suddenly something wrong with them.

"I have proper clothes," he pointed out to her in a reasonable voice. "I've worn them to all the balls and all the parties we've had to attend. Surely there is something amongst them that I can wear when we get married."

Elizabeth laughed, and shook her head.

"Will," she told him, "a wedding is special. It's something that happens only once in a lifetime. Everything about it, from the ceremony, to the breakfast," she slid in close to him, "to the _wedding trip_ afterward," her gaze became rather sensual, "is extraordinary. That means," she ran a finger down his chest, "that the clothes have to be extraordinary as well."

Will captured her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss on her knuckles.

"So even what I wore to the high toned and fancy to-dos doesn't quite pass muster?" he murmured, turning her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist, his eyes locked with hers. Her chaperone gave a long-suffering sigh, not even bothering to try.

"No," she breathed, "not quite."

"Very well," Will agreed, his free hand gliding down her side and coming around to rest on the small of her back. He pulled her closer still. "But, you'll come with me to the tailor's? To make sure that these clothes are _extraordinary_ enough for the wedding?"

Elizabeth nodded her head as she gave him a sultry smile. "Of course."

True to her word, she arrived one morning not long afterward to collect him from the shop. After a quick wash up, they left. Will locked the door to the smithy and posted a note stating that he was closed, but would reopen again that afternoon. They quite enjoyed the stroll, taking their time, Elizabeth's hand tucked in the crook of his arm, her chaperone following a short distance behind.

It wasn't until they met with Wellington, the tailor, that Will understood the size and scope of the order. It seemed that he needed everything but the small clothes. There was the coat, the waistcoat, a new shirt of the finest linen, a cravat of the same, silk breeches, white stockings.

There were the embroidery and the trim to be considered. The merits of different materials were discussed at length, and there was the color of each item to be decided upon. His measurements were taken, subsequent fittings were scheduled.

Head spinning, he found himself nodding and agreeing to all of it. He wondered, but didn't dare ask, how much of his hard-earned income this was going to cost him. He well understood that if he raised any objections, the next sword fighting session would be just as fierce as some of the others had been, but the adorable little frown would be all for _him_.

Almost as an afterthought, Elizabeth turned to tell him that he would also need a new hat, the amusement in her eyes letting him know that she was remembering the hat with the plume of feathers that he'd worn when they'd rescued Jack.

He drew the line, however, at the wearing of a wig. There, he took a stand. Absolutely not. Not even Elizabeth leaning in close to whisper in his ear that _she_ had to wear a corset with her dress, and if she could do _that_ he could certainly wear a wig, would cause him to consider it. His refusal was adamant, and since Elizabeth so loved his dark hair, she happily conceded the point with no further argument at all.

After what seemed like forever, the final order was placed.

On the day of the wedding, Governor Swann sent over his valet, ostensibly to help him dress. Will told the man that he didn't need his help with anything other than the tying of the cravat. The intricacies of the neckwear were still a mystery to him. Once that was done, the valet left, and Will stood in front of the small mirror in his room.

He listened to the rain of a storm that had come up as he stared at his reflection. His hair was neatly tied back in a queue, the valet having tried to fuss with the ribbon before Will shrugged him off. He looked down at the beautiful blue coat, the intricately embroidered waistcoat, the snowy white shirt and cravat, the dove grey silk breeches, the stockings and the black buckled shoes.

He felt stiff and uncomfortable, and very unlike himself. But he had to admit that it was the finest suit of clothes that he had ever owned. He wondered what Elizabeth would think when she saw him, standing at the altar, waiting for her in all his nervous splendor, and a smile quirked his lips.

He drew in a deep breath. He was ready. He was more than ready. In less than a few hours' time, he would be Elizabeth's husband. The dream of his lifetime was about to be realized.

He was placing the hat on his head when he heard the furious pounding on his door …


End file.
